Prelude
by schizofragile
Summary: L and Raito converse and it brings the detective a sense of déjà vu. L centric, oneshot.


Title: Prelude

Author: iP

Summary: L and Raito converse and it brings the detective a sense of déjà vu.

A.N. Be kind. This is not a crack story. Still, enjoy. XD;

* * *

He had remembered it clearly. 

The room was stuffed, disconsolate, dingy, and dank; an invocation of rites, a gate to a passage, an overture to a song, onto something bigger. They sat there, still as a statue, still as a swaying tree in a photograph as the winds bellow right through. A notebook lay on the couch between them, creating an invisible barrier, forbidding access to the other. It lay there dully, almost penchant stillness, unknowing the tension it caused, the rift it created.

Delicate hands gracefully held its thin spine, spidery fingers caressing the black cover, quite gently, and slight hesitatingly. With a slow gesture, the hand picked it up and leafed through its pages. Wide, black eyes scanned the writings inside, reading the words quickly; round eyes passing a glance at every word it saw.

After he saw all he needed, he placed it down.

And waited.

He shrugged. Then he noticed a cup of coffee on the pitch-black floor, its swirls of mist lazily flowing erratically, assembling distinct patterns of names, of things, and of pictures. _Amusing._ A small chuckle and it was almost sarcastic. The other made no move, not by a fragment of an inch; but that was based on what was visible from his eyes' viewpoint. He heard a chuckle again, this time loud and forced, but it still wasn't from the other person. Black eyes searched the shady surroundings, looking for everything, seeing nothing.

_Blink._

The swirls almost filled his view.

His third chuckle. It was satirical.

"Coffee." He heard himself whisper, yet he wasn't talking to the other. No, he wasn't talking to himself either. To the void, perhaps?

"So…" and another attempt to it, but he bit his lip afterward—there were so many revelations, sacrifices, and truths to be answered. He stared at the foggy mist and watched it interestedly, suspended images conjuring right before his eyes, a trickery of the mind. Microphones, doughnuts, televisions, stars within circles.

He blinked. Once.

Swiftly the figures changed: cameras, then guns, handcuffs, a chessboard, guns, guns, and then a notebook. The corner of his lip curled grimly. _Blink._ A pen. _Blink._ That familiar black notebook again. _Blink._ Chocolates and puppets. _Blink._

_Blink._

_Blink._

It was enough.

"Raito."

Never mind all pleasantries, niceties, and formalities. It was a difficult position, made more awkwardly so by himself. _How amusing._

"Don't call me that."

And he was struck out of his reverie.

There was nothing to answer, it seemed.

No, he wasn't going to ask why—it would be uncalled-for; all had been said, and unfortunately, all had been done. He had seen it all. There was nothing else to be explained.

But he couldn't help it.

"…Why?" It was not begging to be answered, to be consoled; it only wanted what it needed. Nothing else.

Auburn eyes darted swiftly to him, slicing, penetrating. The expression changed from inscrutable to blank, and L could see those eyes narrowing, calculating, and focusing itself on a single thought. His own eyes moved over, searching for any signs of resolution—or even maybe, just maybe, of regret. Tentatively he made a quick look at the cheeks, but noticed no flush in that fine, young skin, none whatsoever—but he could see tightly pursed lips.

He had a hunch why that was, but it was—just like all other—a hunch.

He heard a chuckle. This time, it wasn't from him.

Certainly a first for the Yagami.

"You know it already," flickering, piercing eyes met his, and he could see a manic glint lurking just behind its shadows. "I do not have to tell it again."

"You want to tell it again," L interjected, and had an odd sense of accomplishment as he saw Raito's eyes narrow deeply.

"You shouldn't have asked in the first place."

"It won't stop you from gloating, though."

Dangerous eyes glared at him with an intensity he never felt before.

L met his eyes.

"I know you already, Raito."

A smirk. A full, triumphant, self-righteous smirk answered him, and everything chilled around.

"If you knew me…"

The mist dissolved into nothingness.

_Blink._

"…then you shouldn't have died, L."

And the smirk was firmly set on again.

The detective's wide eyes wandered over the coffee cup on the floor.

_Blink._

Then it was gone.

He closed his eyes, shutting it tightly.

Opened it.

He was gone.

Slowly, his pale lips forced to open, speaking out one answer which has eluded him so many times:

"Kira."

He was alone, and still he could see the swirls of the mist, floating intermittently, right in front of him.

* * *

Blank, black eyes instantly opened and were welcomed with the familiar cream walls, the usual array of computers beeping feebly as it worked, and his basket of sweets, ready for his taking. The huge mirror was there, as well as the familiar door leading to the room's pantry. This was his place, his territory. 

A faint smile crept into his lips.

_A dream._

He gave an involuntary shudder, feeling the tingly chill creep its way on his feet. He glanced at the table and saw a coffee cup resting there, waiting patiently to be drank. A small mist was forming, slowly evaporating upwards, creating tiny swirls as it rose. He blinked.

Raito was sitting beside him.

He was careful not to close his eyes again, or else he might lose him forever. Just like in the dream.

"Don't sleep, Ryuuzaki."

He stared at Raito.

When Raito heard no answer, he looked at the detective squarely in the eye.

"I know, Raito-kun."

Raito stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to the computer, and shut it down.

This was his last coffee. L was sure of it. He gingerly stirred it and released a whiff which was sweet and bitter at the same time. _How ironic._

_Bittersweet_, he thought grimly as he wiggled his toes, hoping to alleviate the freezing numbness that took over him.

* * *

And as he felt his body go weak, his heart thump irregularly in its iron cage—begging to burst, determinedly wanting to bleed and break free at the same time—he stared numbly at his savior, his friend. He wanted to live in the full sense of the word. He desired to fly and soar through the clouds, caring about nothing, living with his own free will. 

Why was he thinking of living _now_?

Life was running out of him. Fast.

Raito smiled maniacally.

_Kira._

As the final thread of life cut into two, he gave one last look and saw Raito: his savior, his enemy, and his friend; and then he saw mists and swirls, painstakingly crawling upward from the coffee cup.

He closed his eyes, and knew:

This was what he had been waiting for.

**OWARI.**

* * *

Note: Last sentence taken and minor-edited from _The Boarding House_ by James Joyce. 

A.N.: Please be kind! -sniff- I really wanted to write something other than crack. Oh, and there are a few symbolisms, yes. Sorry about that. o.o;

Reviews are totally appreciated!


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